


Charlie Chaplin Was a Fake and Flowers Were for Pansies

by valleyofthewind



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Professional Exy (All For The Game), Scars, True Love, ments of past traumas but very brief and vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valleyofthewind/pseuds/valleyofthewind
Summary: “If a baby is made from a mummy and a daddy kissing, how did you two make me?” There’s this look of quandary on her small, scrunched up face. “I don’t have a mummy.”alternatively: the chronicles of andrew and neil raising a child together





	Charlie Chaplin Was a Fake and Flowers Were for Pansies

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first time writing aftg and it was good fun! i have another andreil wip – a superduperlong jazz musician au – but for now i just wanted to write something that wasn't very... intricate. just short, cute, domestic moments, with no real plot to follow. you know.

 

 

 

 

“Seriously,” Andrew says. He looks at Neil, then at Kayla standing in front of him, then back at Neil. “Orange?”

“Yup.” Neil finishes tying the second hair bobble into Kayla’s hair, leaning back in his chair to admire his work. “Turn around, Kayla.” She turns around on the spot to face him, pigtails swinging around in the air, and grins widely. Having recently lost her front baby teeth, the grin she gives is a little gap–toothed, but still as warm as ever. Neil smiles back at her.

“How does it look, Daddy?” she asks.

“Good,” Neil says. “And it’s all thanks to me being such a good hairdresser.”

She giggles at this. “Daddy! You’re not a hairdresser.”

From across the kitchen Andrew says, “No, he’s certainly not,” to which he receives a half–arsed glare from Neil.

It seems as though Kayla just now realises that Andrew’s in the room since she exclaims, “Daddy!” whilst turns around and running towards Andrew, throwing her arms around his legs and hugging them towards her. Upon being thrown at by Kayla, Andrew almost spills freshly brewed coffee all over himself and her, but he manages to place his mug down on the counter next to him just in the nick of time. When she’s finished pressing her face into his knees, Kayla looks up at him and says, “What do _you_ think, Daddy?”

He looks at the small, orange bobbles neatly tied into her hair. He’s pretty sure Kayla got those for her birthday, since he didn’t buy them and can’t remember Neil doing so either. A gift from Kevin, were they? The thought of Kevin awkwardly wandering around in Accessorize or Clair’s to buy presents for Kayla is enough to twitch his mouth into the ghost of a small smile.

Since Andrew doesn’t answer straight away, Kayla loses her little 5-year-old patience. She frowns and demands: “What do you think?”

He ruffles her hair, just little enough to make sure it doesn’t affect Neil’s hard labour (see: putting her hair into two pigtails). “Looks good.” 

Neil speaks up on the other side of the room, innocently asking: “You like the colour orange, right Kayla?”

Andrew snaps his eyes up from Kayla to shoot Neil a quick look which says: You’re bringing her into our personal feud? Really, Neil? In return, Neil casts Andrew a cocky look which clearly states: And what about it?

Kayla ignores her dads’ staring game and thinks about this question for a few seconds. Then, her reply comes in another beam and a confident exclamation. “I like all colours!” 

A smug smile makes its way onto Neil’s face. “So, you do like orange?” 

Neil, he’s like that sometimes. Stubborn.

Andrew folds his arms. “She’s already given you an answer.”

Kayla folds her arms and says, “Yeah, Daddy. I already gave you an answer.” She copies Andrew’s words and actions, but the retort sounds much friendlier in her high-pitched, sugar-sweet voice. 

“ _Kayla_ ,” Neil splutters. “Where did all that attitude come from?” 

Andrew shrugs. “Who knows?” he asks, even though the answer is obvious to both of them. Every reason behind Kayla acting and talking the way she does lies in the very shape and form of the two adults who are raising her. 

Kayla suddenly gets bored of standing still with her arms crossed next to Andrew. She runs back to sit next to Neil – always full of energy, she is; just watching her jog around from place to place instead of walking makes Andrew feel exhausted – and Andrew joins them after pouring up another mug of coffee, carefully carrying two cups from the kitchen counter to the table. 

“What’s for breakfast, Daddy?” She directs the question to Andrew.

“Hmm?” he asks. He looks at Neil, who has just taken his mug out of Andrew’s hands and thanked him briefly. He sipping the hot drink, careful to not burn his tongue. (This is a man who once wasn’t afraid of dying.) “Hasn’t other Daddy already made breakfast?” 

“Nope,” says Kayla. “He was being my hairdresser.”

“I see,” says Andrew, raising his eyebrows. “And it took him 20 minutes to be your hairdresser?”

“I don’t know,” says Kayla, sounding frustrated, emphasis on the word ‘know’. She has no sense of time at all, of course. In her world something could’ve taken two minutes or two hours and she wouldn’t’ve noticed the difference.

But the question was directed at Neil, anyway.

At first Neil simply shrugs in lieu of replying. Then he says, “Hair ties are more complicated than you’d think.”

Andrew looks at him. “Go make some breakfast.”

Acting like he’s the child out of the three, Neil groans. “Okay.”

When he’s gotten up from his seat to make something for Kayla – most likely a basic meal like toast with scrambled eggs; he’s never really been quite the chef and doesn’t care for cooking – she turns around in her face and faces Andrew. “Daddy,” she starts. “Why did other Daddy not want to make breakfast?”

At the grand age of five, the  _only_ thing children want to do? It’s ask questions. They do it constantly. It’s like they suddenly wake up one morning and feel the urge to need to know everything about everything. And, they question everything, too. 

A few months ago, they’d had to wait about two hours at a vaccination place for Kayla to get a TBE shot. She’d first asked normal questions like what they were doing there and why, and Neil kept lobbing logical answers at her until she eventually cracked and started inventing make-believe scenarios.

 _“Well, you need to get the tick off because otherwise you can get diseases.”_

_“What if I only had one arm so I couldn’t get it off?”_

_“Well, then, someone else could get it off for you. Like me or other Daddy.”_

_“What if you weren’t there?”_

_“Well, then, someone else could get it off.”_

_“What if I was the last person on earth?”_

_“Kayla, sweetheart, if you were the last person on earth, I doubt that a tick would be the least of your problems.”_

_“What does ‘doubt’ mean?”_  

Imagine that. Now, imagine it consistently going on for two hours in a crowded waiting room. At least it managed to keep the other people there entertained, too, as they all discretely smiled at Kayla’s persistent police interrogation ways and Neil struggling to cough up answers good enough for her. Andrew sat next to them the whole time, pretending to read his own book whilst he was in actuality listening to the conversation with a small smile tugging its way onto his face every now and then.

Andrew explains, “He didn’t want to make breakfast because he wanted me to do it because he’s lazy.” 

“Why’s he lazy?”

“Because he had to wake up early to wake you up.”

“Why did he have to go that?”

“Because I had to shower, and other Daddy likes waking up earlier than me.”

“Why?”

“Because he likes going out for runs.”

“But, why do _I_ have to wake up early?”

“Because you have to go to school.”

“Why?”

“Because you have to learn.”

“Why?”

“Because you have to do things in life.”

“What if I don’t want to go to school? Or learn?”

“You have to do it anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” 

“Yeah, but _why?_ ” she asks, eyebrows furrowed, as if she’s the Socrates of her time; feeling the inexorable urge to question the ways things we people do and the way we live.

Before Kayla, Andrew’s patience wore thin after someone had asked him a single unnecessary question. If someone had asked “Yeah, but why?” after he’d said, “Because I said so,” 15 years ago that meant they had like, some kind of death wish. Not as if anyone ever dared to try something that suicidal back then.

Now, Andrew just sips his coffee and calmly replies, “Kayla, there are some things you just have to do. Whether or not you want to or don’t want to.”

“ _Hmf_ ,” comes Kayla’s reply as she slumps back into her seat, and Andrew knows he’s won this round. 

A few moments later breakfast is served. Neil and Andrew stare at Kayla as she gobbles up half of her scrambled eggs on toast before pushing the plate towards Andrew. “You can have the rest, Daddy. I have to go to school now.” 

Andrew raises an eyebrow, amused. “Who do you think is taking you there?”

Stubborn as she is, she replies, “I can go on my own.”

Andrew looks at Neil and says, “Now, I wonder whose genes those ‘I can go on my own’ ones are from,” to which Neil says, “Shut up,” with no real malice in his voice.

Kayla frowns and says, “Mrs. Greene says you shouldn’t say ‘Shut up’,” to which Neil smiles and says, “Mrs. Greene means that _you_ shouldn’t say ‘Shut up’. _I_ can do whatever I want. I’m a grown up,” to which Kayla complains that that’s _unfair_ and Neil adds, “Don’t tell Mrs. Greene I said that, though.”

Andrew knows that she won’t have the rest of her breakfast, so he eats up the rest of the toast – even though he doesn’t really like the way Neil makes scrambled eggs: they’re too soggy for his liking – whilst listening to Neil and Kayla argue about the perks that come with being an adult.

They usually take turns in dropping Kayla off at school. Sometimes they’ll go all three together depending on what time Neil and Andrew’s practice starts in comparison to Kayla’s morning class, but since their team schedule is often varied and odd, they never really know what will happen. 

Sometimes, Neil takes Kayla to school and goes straight to practise on his own, while other days Andrew drops her off on the way to his and Neil’s early morning team practice if Neil feels like jogging there instead. They make it work. 

Ten to eight.

By the time they’ve finished up with breakfast they’re on the verge of running late, and it’s Andrew’s turn to drop her off.

Just as they’re about to leave the front door, Kayla stops and looks up at Neil – he has already kissed her forehead and said he’ll see her later; making him give her a puzzled expression as if to ask What’s wrong? – then back to Andrew. 

Andrew says, “Come on, Kayla. We’re going to be late.”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she gestures at him to bend down to her level, and when he has done so she puts on a fake deep, gruff voice and says, “Your glasses are all skew-whiff, Andrew,” whilst adjusting them a little. Then she giggles.

It takes a few seconds for Andrew to understand what she means, but when he looks at Neil, he sees that his eyes are blinking before his expression melts into a happy, warm one.

It’s not as if it’s something the two of them have ever thought about, but Neil must’ve subconsciously adjusted Andrew’s glasses so many times that Kayla had picked up the action and phrase.

She’d been copying Neil.

Warmth spreads its way through Andrew’s body. Sometimes, it still feels unused to – this feeling of undeniable happiness, of affection. But over the years he’s been slowly yet gradually letting himself get used to it. It’s not an emotion he wants to hold back on anymore. It’s taken nearly an entire lifetime for him to become in wont with the honey–sweet, subtle pleasure that can curl its way into his body as Neil kisses him extra softly. Or, whenever Kayla says or does something that for whichever reason touches him just a little extra. 

Andrew used to run from that emotion. So did Neil. They didn’t want to feel surety – they didn’t allow themselves to want it – as they had both given up on it. They had learnt to be certain of the fact that the false sense of security would never, ever last long. They grew up believing that was no need for settling.

Before meeting each other, Neil cowered and fled at the very first signs of want and Andrew didn’t care for the idea of any relationship with feelings involved. 

The time the two had crashed into each other’s lives was when they were both in their vulnerable states: Andrew was drugged up to Hell and back, and Neil had without a fight accepted that he had less than a year to live.

Now the two are stood by the front door of their house and they have a mortgage and they pay taxes and there are three different sizes of coats on the hangers and their daughter is adjusting Andrew’s glasses because he’s gotten worse eyesight over the years and she is smiling and Andrew lets a dose of ease writhe its way into his body and he doesn’t hate it. 

He and Neil give each other a quick, wordless glance. The gleam in Neil’s eyes is enough to confirm that they’re thinking of the exact same thing.

Neil beams as he says, “I’ll see you later.” 

Andrew nods. 

“See you later, Daddy!” Kayla exclaims. She runs out the front door the second after Andrew pushes it open for her.

On the short walk to their parked car, Kayla gently tugs Andrew’s trouser leg and puts her hand up in the air, chattering on about her new friends and her favourite teachers and everything she likes and dislikes about school as of right now.

Andrew reaches down to get a hold of Kayla’s hand. And then he holds it, comfortably listening to her talk as they walk along the pavement together.

 

 

 

When they’d first started thinking about having a child, Neil and Andrew knew they would have to shake off many of their bad habits together.

Smoking felt nearly impossible to quit, but they knew they had to. For the sake of Kayla, who back then only was a clump of cells in their surrogate’s stomach. Neither of them wanted their child to have to grow up with parents with yellow-stained fingers and the putrid stench of cigarette smoke filling the house.

Andrew had been smoking since his adolescence, and the first couple of days after he’d decided to have his last cigarette, most of the time he longed for one so much that his entire body shook. 

He and Neil had put together plans – or, mostly Neil, actually. He’d written lists of reasons to quit and put small pieces of papers of these reasons all over the house and in his and Andrew’s wallets and jacket pockets. 

He’d even written small notes with things they could do as alternatives to smoking whenever they wanted to do it with their morning cups of coffees and during their breaks and evenings on the terrace. 

For a month or so he had a hard time sleeping, he had pounding headaches nearly all the time, he felt hungrier than ever before, more than ever, and he had never before felt so tremendously _anxious._ It was like he was always shaking, or biting his nails, or jiggling his leg.

He’d never before felt restless like that.

And he had hated it. He really, really had.

But, in the moments he was at his worst, imaging how relaxed he could feel with just the tiniest of nicotine kicks, he would always think of Neil, and their soon–to–be child. This is something he never said. Not in a million years. It was something he instead kept locked away in a small, small safe in his brain, only to be opened in his most desperate moments where he would rack every inch of his brain while thinking: What am I doing this for? Why the fuck am torturing myself, when I could just feel better with just a single smoke? Didn’t I already stop taking meds? Why can’t I have this _one thing?_

Then he would think of Neil writing notes like this: _If you ever want a cigarette with your morning cup of coffee, water the hyacinths instead,_ and putting them next to the kettle.

And he would take a few deep breaths before pouring himself a cold glass of water and drinking it all in one gulp.

The first month was the hardest, but Neil was always there to push him.

Whenever Andrew hands trembled in uncharacteristic anxiety, Neil would hold his hands and ask him if they could kiss. Andrew had wanted to scream. He’d wanted to spit in Neil’s face and yell, You don’t know what’s good for me! Fuck off! Fuck off!

If Neil had seen this in his expression, he hadn’t said anything about it. 

Andrew hadn’t screamed anything. Instead, he’d nodded and said, “Kiss me,” and he and Neil had kissed and kissed until their minds went numb.

Some old habits are hard to shake, though, no matter what.

He and Neil are both light sleepers. At even the smallest of sounds, they both wake up instantaneously. Sometimes they’ll fall asleep straight away again, but sometimes they’ll lie there in silence for ages; listening to each other breathe until the sun rises in the sky and light pours through their slightly opened curtains.

Tonight, they both wake up to hearing a door down the corridor opening, followed by the unmistakable sound of pitter-patter of small feet against the wood floor.

Andrew quickly turns to his side to turn the room’s lights on – a glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s four o’clock in the morning – and Neil sits up straight in bed.

The door to their bedroom creaks open.

“Kayla?” Neil asks. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Kayla is standing in the door frame, tightly clutching her stuffed panda to her chest. “I can’t sleep.” She shuffles from side to side. “I had a nightmare.”

Surprisingly enough for Neil, Andrew is the first to react of the two. “Come here,” he says gently, and she walks into the room to stand by the bed but not approaching them fully.

Neil turns to look at him. He doesn’t say anything. Then, he looks back to Kayla. When he finally finds his words he asks, “Are you okay?”

Voice muffled by her panda pressed against her face, she mumbles a reply. 

“What was that?” Neil asks. His voice is gentle.

“I can’t sleep,” she says, again. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Oh.” Neil looks at Andrew. “You want to sleep in our bed tonight?” In his expression lies a silent question directed to Andrew: Is that okay?

Andrew gives him a small nod.

Neil looks at him but he, again, doesn’t question anything. “Yes, yes, of course, poppet,” says Neil, stretching his hand out to help Kayla up.

Kayla nods. She climbs into their bed, lying in the middle between them and rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“How’s Pandy doing?” Neil asks.

“He’s fine,” Kayla says, sniffling just a little.

“He doesn’t have any nightmares, does he?”

“He’s just a teddy.” 

“Are you sure he doesn’t have any feelings?” 

“I don’t know,” Kayla says. She’s quiet for a few seconds. “I had a nightmare, Daddy. I was swimming in the pool, and then sharks were chasing me, and I couldn’t swim and I was drowning, and, and–” her breaths are increasingly more rapid, her words quicker– “suddenly, the shark was biting me and I was stuck under a rock and I couldn’t move–” 

Neil strokes her hair. “It’s okay, Kayla. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.” 

She goes silent again. Then she asks, “Have you had a nightmare before, Daddy?”

Andrew and Neil share a quick, knowing look.

“Well,” Neil starts, carefully. “Other Daddy and I have had loads of nightmares. But they go over eventually.” When he realises that Andrew isn’t going to chip in to confirm the statement, he continues. “Just like yours will. You’ll just have to try and sleep now.”

Kayla sniffles a little again, and Neil kisses her on the top of the head. “What if the shark comes back again?”

Andrew says, “Fight the shark back.”

Kayla says, “Can I do that?”

“Why couldn’t you?” Bundled up in-between them, her eyes are suddenly wide open. “It’s your own dream.”

Kayla considers this for a few moments. “Okay. If the shark comes back, I’m gonna fight him off,” she declares, turning towards Andrew. He ruffles her hair and gives her a slight smile. “I’m gonna protect Pandy from the shark. And Daddy. And other Daddy. So you won’t have thousands of nightmares anymore. I promise. So, don’t worry about it.”

“That’s great,” says Neil. He yawns before he can even finish saying the word ‘great’. “Now try and sleep, Kayla.”

Eventually, they all manage to fall asleep together, only waking up when Andrew’s alarm clock starts beeping at 7:00 a.m.

An entire day passes. Andrew doesn’t think too much about the nightmare incident, since Kayla immediately returns to her normal self by breakfast, telling Andrew that her second dream was about her finding a stag beetle in the forest and going on to name it Jerry.

But something seems off. As he and Neil are lying in bed an hour or so after putting her to bed, Andrew notices that something is up.

Neil is reading. Recently he’s taken quite a liking to Japanese authors. He stormed through Osamu Dazai’s _No Longer Human_ , the French translation of Hori Tatsuo’s _The Wind Has Risen_ , and now he’s going through Murakami novels at the speed of light.

Tonight, he looks like he’s just staring at the pages and turning them without letting a single word process first. 

Since Andrew has over the years mastered the art of reading Neil Josten like an open book, he can easily guess what bothering him.

“Hey,” Andrew says, closing his laptop shut to put it on his bedside table. He reaches over and pinches Neil’s nose. Neil doesn’t look up from _The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle_ , and Andrew repeats himself, “Hey,” whilst tugging at Neil’s hair.

“What?” Neil asks, finally placing the novel down in front of him.

“Stop thinking about it,” says Andrew.

“What?” 

Andrew gives him a look. “Stop acting dumb.” Neil doesn’t reply. “Stop thinking about it. Kayla doesn’t have nightmares like us–” he puts a heavy emphasis on the word ‘us’– “and it’s normal for kids to have bad dreams. A shark was chasing her, Neil. She’s never seen a shark in her life apart from on National Geographic. Stop thinking about it.”

Neil is quiet for a while. When finally speaks up, he’s staring at the wall. “I just don’t want her to feel scared.”

Andrew reaches over to pinch Neil’s nose again. “Stop it. She’s not scared because anything has happened, or because we’ve done anything wrong. It was just a normal nightmare.”

Neil closes his eyes, and Andrew watches his lips mouth words without a single sound coming out.

For a few moments, the only noises in the entire room are Neil quietly counting under his breath and Andrew breathing in and out through his nose.

“Okay,” Neil says eventually, letting out a deep sigh. “Okay.”

Turning over and at last meeting Andrew’s gaze, he seems to look a little less stirred up than he was five minutes ago. 

“Can I kiss you?” Neil asks.

This is another habit neither of them has shaken off. Yes or no? Can I? Do you want to? It’s not a bad habit, though – like smoking and drinking too much whiskey on weekdays are. Despite the fact that the two have gradually been recovering over the years, sometimes they have days where they don’t want to be touched at all. Not that anything specific may have happened to trigger the flashbacks, or the sudden, overwhelming feelings of anxiety and wariness. Sometimes it just happens. And so, Andrew and Neil know each other well enough to know to always double check: “Yes or no?” or “Can I?”

Tonight, Andrew gives him a small nod, and Neil shuffles closer to him. They lie there for a few heartbeats, staring into each other’s eyes. 

Neil’s blue eyes always look darker and slightly greyer in subdued light. 

Andrew says, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Neil huffs. “I can’t admire your face first?”

Andrew says, “Quiet,” but he means that he doesn’t mind and Neil knows that.

Neil leans in and kisses him on the nose first, then travels down to his mouth slowly, taking his time in tangling his hands into Andrew’s hair before leaning in and pressing their lips together.

When he pulls away after a long, lazy kiss, Neil has a look on his face as if he’s about to say something stupid like, “Thank you,” so Andrew shuts him up by kissing him again. Neil’s falls asleep with his head resting sideways on Andrew’s chest instead of his own pillow; the bedside lamps still on.  

 

 

 

It had been Kayla’s idea to adopt two cats, just as it was her idea to name said cats ‘King Fluffkins’ and ‘Sir Fat Cat McCatterson’. 

They were the ugliest cats in the entire adoption centre, too, but Kayla had instantaneously fallen in love with them – just as they’d fallen in love with her. She’d gently petted them with her small, chubby fingers, and Neil and Andrew were convinced that they hadn’t been petted like that in years since they straight away started clinging to her like she was their mother; all big, gentle eyes and soft purring.

She’d looked at Neil and Andrew with big, pleading eyes, and after signing a few contracts and showing some sort of proof that they were economically stable enough to take care of the little creatures, the three had walked to the car with their two new cats in their two new cat carriers.

King Fluffkins is eleven years old. Sir Fat Cat McCatterson is seven. 

King Fluffkins is fat, grey, and blind in one eye – half-blind in the other – and has really, really bad teeth (meaning Andrew and Neil have to have this special toothpaste and special little toothbrush to brush his teeth with). Sir Fat Cat McCatterson is fat but thinner in comparison to his companion, mottled orange and black and ecru, and hopelessly scared of grass and staircases (he refuses to go upstairs without being carried). 

Kayla adores them.

Andrew and Neil have taken certain likings to them, too, despite Sir Fat Cat McCatterson being afraid of leaving their living room and King Fluffkins’ dental care costing heaps.

Sometimes – especially on rainy Saturdays when none of them have to wake up early in the mornings – they will all sit together on the living room sofa, still wearing pyjamas, curled up with the cats; Neil reading _Famous Five_ books out loud for Kayla; Andrew drinking coffee and silently listening to all the mysteries being solved by Julian, Dick, Anne, George, and Timmy.

Andrew, he doesn’t care too much about the plot or the adventures. He enjoys simply watching Neil dramatize the different characters’ voices and actions and seeing Kayla’s reactions to parts of the stories.

All of a sudden, Sir Fat Cat will curl his way onto Andrew’s lap. Andrew, knowing that he won’t be able to get him off for two hours if he doesn’t do anything quick, will poke Sir Fat Cat and say, “Stupid cat,” and said stupid cat will still not budge a centimetre.

Kayla will stop listening to Neil for a few seconds and scold Andrew by saying: “Don’t call him stupid, Daddy. He can hear you, you know.” She says this very matter-of-factly.

After she says this, Andrew will simply have to accept his fate of not being able to get out of the sofa all day. 

But, he also knows that it’s not such a bad fate to have to accept – and he will go on by gently petting Sir Fat Cat’s multi-coloured fur as he listens to Neil say, “Okay, Kayla. One last chapter before lunch,” followed by Kayla complaining, “You can’t stop reading there!” followed by Neil immediately saying, “Oh, fine, but only two more,” since he, too, is just secretly as invested in the book’s plot as Kayla is.

 

 

 

Neil knows that he and Andrew aren’t alike any other of the parents to Kayla’s classmates.

First: the fact that they are two men.

This makes other parents stare a little. In comparison, it makes teachers smile and make a big deal out of it by saying things like, “We’re glad to have all _kinds_ of, hmm,  _different_ parents here.” Neil usually gives a tiny nod in acknowledgement to this, while Andrew doesn’t care enough to comment.

Second: their professions.

Most parents think the fact that they are professional Exy players is ‘fun’, and ‘different’ – especially the ones who enjoy watching Exy – but there are some parents – the ones who are like, lawyers, or dentists – who silently don’t see how one could dedicate their lives to something as stupid as a sport.

Third: their scars. 

Neil’s most noticeable scar is the huge burn mark stretching across nearly a quarter of his entire face. This makes people stare. Not long enough for Andrew to scowl and ask what they’re looking at, but not short enough for it to be a quick glimpse. Although no one questions their black armbands either, both Neil and Andrew noticed their curious – sometimes even judging – glances.

Fourth: Andrew’s straight-forwardness.

Andrew isn’t one to make polite small talk. This makes the other parents, who are used to preamble and comfortable conversations about their children and lives outside of that, moderately uncomfortable.

Neil has tried to bring this up with Andrew before, but Andrew always shuts him down.

“Can you at least try to talk to Kayla’s friends’ parents?”

This is the part of the conversation where Andrew will give him an uninterested look. “And what would be the point in that?”

“So. So, she can have sleepovers and do fun things and we don’t have to worry about not knowing the parents.”

“I’m not interested in talking to people I don’t feel the need to talk to.”

“Well, start feeling the need, then.”

“No.”

This is when Neil will sigh, exasperated. “You’re going to have to talk to them, eventually. When Kayla wants to actually _do_ things with her friends. It’d be stupid to not her go on. Hmm. Playdates. Just because we don’t like socialising with other parents.”

“Playdates,” Andrew will say.  

“Yes,” Neil will say. 

Andrew will raise an eyebrow. “Those parents don’t seem to like us very much.” 

“Since when have you ever cared about what others think?”

“I just mean that, again, there’s no point in trying to buddy up with people who have judged us without even getting to know us.”

“You’re judging them without having gotten to know them, too. You just assumed everyone judges us from our outside image.”

“There’s a difference.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is a difference, since I’m saying that they have opinions of us based on prejudiced stereotypes they’ve been brainwashed into believing are true.” 

“You can’t be so sure about that–”

“I can. There’s no way two people who have been raised in a perfect, Catholic family will look at us at think: I want my little baby to be best friends with those heathen gay parents’ kid.”

“You don’t _know_ that.”

“I know how people think, Neil. Stop being oblivious. It’s infuriating.” 

“Just,” Neil will say, grasping at straws. “Stop thinking about us. Stop thinking about what people think of _us_. Think about Kayla. She needs friends, even if we don’t necessarily need friendships with the parents.” 

Andrew will not reply to this.

“Just think about it.”

Andrew will not reply to this. 

And that will be the end of the conversation.

Usually, Neil doesn’t have the hardest time in persuading Andrew to do things like this. But when it comes to this specific subject he just won’t  _budge_. Neil finds it hard to believe, since he thought saying, “Think about Kayla,” would make him reconsider almost straight away. 

In need of advice, Neil sends away a quick message one night. _Bp tomorrow?_

The reply comes in less than a minute. 

 _When?_

_12?_

_My lunch break is at 12:30 so that works better :-)_

_See you then._

At around quarter past 12 o’clock the following day, Andrew doesn’t question Neil when he says he’s going to meet Matt at Budapest – one of their only local cafés which isn’t super dodgy – for lunch soon. He just gives Neil a quick nod and Neil smiles as he says, “See you.”

By the time Neil arrives at Budapest, Matt has already had time to sit down and even order his coffee and cream cake along with Neil’s favourite: the café’s apple crumble with a generous dollop of whipped cream on the side. 

When Neil thanks him and says he’ll pay him back, already getting a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet, Matt shakes his head and says it’s his treat.

They discuss their lives for a little. 

Neil recaps some of Kayla’s most recent antics – as per usual Matt says he needs to send him pictures of her more often, and as always, Neil admits that he’s going to try and get better at that – whilst Matt tells him about Dan, the married life, and their two children (whom Kayla often refers to as her ‘cousins’, Charlie and Lily).

“So, what brought you here today?” Matt asks eventually, taking a long sip of his double espresso when it’s arrived. “I mean, unless you just wanted to chat.”

Matt, he’s definitely a double espresso paired with a thick strawberry-flavoured cream cake kind of a guy. Neil, he prefers the tangy flavour of the apples coalescing with the buttery crumble.

“Andrew is being impossible,” says Neil. He lifts his spoon to his mouth and lets the taste pour into his mouth; a streak of sunlight on the otherwise seemingly grey and boring day. 

Matt grins at Neil’s words, watching him revel in the flavour of his warm baked treat. “What’s new?”

“He’s just being impossible,” Neil groans.

“Are you going to leave him for that crumble?” 

“I’m thinking about it.” Matt’s smile is mischievous. Neil takes another long bite. “No, but seriously. I need advice.”

“Hit me.”

Neil tells him about how Andrew is being impossible about meeting Kayla’s friends, and Matt is content with listening to him ranting for a few minutes: _Why is it so hard to convince him about this, specifically? It’s like talking to a, a wall, or something. A wall, Matt!_

Matt thinks for a few moments. “I think it could maybe have to do with Andrew’s… trust issues.” 

Neil frowns. “Yeah, but.” And, he can’t think of anything else to say.

“I think Andrew probably has an underlying, valid reason to not want to trust the other parents,” Matt continues. “I don’t think it’s just about him stepping out of his comfort zone to go and eat dinner with Kayla’s friends’ parents. If it was, wouldn’t he have already agreed? I mean, you’ve managed to convince him to step out of his comfort zone and do things like, like, thousands of times. Those times when no one else could, you managed to persuade him just by ‘talking’. Don’t you think there just might be a, um, bigger picture?” 

Neil ponders about it. “But, I have those ‘trust issues’–” he hates this expression, he really does– “too. We both grew up that way. I mean, not wanting to let anyone in. But I’d thought we’d gotten past that. For the sake of Kayla, you know?”

“Some things are hard to undo just like that, Neil,” says Matt. Obviously, Neil already knows this, but hearing Matt saying it sends him into a bout of guiltiness – has he been pressuring Andrew too much?

When Neil and Andrew had been choosing who Kayla’s godparents were going to be, they’d decided to choose one person each. Andrew had, without a doubt, asked Renee to be Kayla’s godmother. Neil had thought about it for a slightly longer time, and had eventually asked Matt. The reason? Moments like these. Matt hasn’t always understood Neil, but he’s always been willing to help. From day one. Whenever Neil has needed advice, or just wanted to hear a friendly voice over the phone, he’s always called Matt, and Matt has always been there to guide him through it (or just mindlessly chat with him until Neil has managed to calm down from a sudden bout of anxiousness).

Matt continues: “Give it some time, some patience. And, I think you should just ask Andrew if there’s some underlying reason as to why he really won’t do it.” 

He gives off a bright smile whilst licking the cream off the sides of his mouth, and then the two of them realise they have to get back to work soon.

Since Neil trusts Matt’s judgement, he decides to follow his advice.

And, surprisingly enough, it works. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Neil starts – a little after they’ve put Kayla to sleep – to which Andrew replies, sarcasm heavy in his voice, “Sounds dangerous.”

At first, Andrew seems to completely shut Neil off the very moment he brings up the whole ‘socialising with parents’ thing again. But, he’s listening nonetheless. Neil can tell.

“Is there a reason you’re just straight-up refusing, apart from not feeling the need?”

“No.”

“Andrew,” is all Neil replies.

Andrew thinks. He thinks, and thinks. They’re sitting together on different ends of the sofa in the living room, a woolly blanket spread over their bodies. 

After a minute or so of silence, he speaks. “Kayla told me something the other day,” Andrew says. “She asked me if it’s weird that she has two dads instead of a mum and dad.” Neil reacts to this by furrowing his eyebrows, but he doesn’t cut Andrew off. “I asked her where she got that from, and she said that some classmates had been telling her that. And that it’d been the classmates’ parents had said that it was unusual, strange. That they’d been saying that. To their _kids_.” 

Neil blanks. “Really?”

Andrew nods, stony-faced.

“What else did she say?”

“She said that she’d replied that it wasn’t weird at all, and that the classmates had gotten confused as to why their parents would lie,” he replies dryly. “Imagine that. Pushing your opinions onto your 5-year-old child.” 

“She really said that?”

“Yes,” Andrew confirms. “It doesn’t make me tempted to want to get to know those parents.”

Neil’s mind whirrs. “You didn’t immediately call the parents and threaten them?” 

“No,” says Andrew. “I didn’t.”

This surprises him a little. It does, even though he knows it shouldn’t. “You didn’t?”

“I called the principle.”

“What did you say?”

“Some things.”

“Andrew.”

“That such behaviour wasn’t acceptable, that you and I had felt personally ridiculed, et cetera, et cetera,” comes Andrew’s nonchalant reply. When Neil looks at him, dumbfounded, he waves his hand in a see-saw movement. “I couldn’t care less about what some parents think of me, but I hate the way they push it onto their fucking kids.”

Parenting has definitely changed Andrew.

Whenever Neil says this, though, Matt often grins and says, “What?” and Allison frowns and says, “Isn’t he like, the exact same person as he was before?”

Renee is the only one who agrees. 

She and Neil are the ones who know Andrew the best. Renee has noticed Andrew’s shift in the small things, such as Andrew’s phone calls. He’d once called, asking: “Kayla’s just been sick. Neil will worry too much if I tell him. What do I do?” Even though he’d said that Neil would be the one to worry too much, Renee had heard his uncharacteristically bored voice sounding slightly urgent.

Neil, he had noticed Andrew’s shift in _everything_.

The way Andrew had learnt how to plait Kayla’s hair (he’d watched a single YouTube tutorial and immediately got the hang of it) the very same day that it had taken Neil 20 long, embarrassing minutes to simply put her hair into ponytails.

This shift lies in the way Andrew will tell Kayla old stories of the foxes and his and Neil’s Exy matches; the way he willingly listens to old Lady Gaga songs whenever Kayla puts them and dances around the living room (they have both learn all the lyrics through her obsession with _The Fame Monster_ , and Neil has sometimes noticed Andrew unmistakably humming along to _Paparazzi_ ).

It lies in just something small like this – calling the principle to complain instead of going directly to the parents. The way he seems to care so much about them pushing their twisted agenda onto their children.

Now, Andrew shrugs. “Anyway, that scared the shit out of the principle. He promised to talk to the parents and have them talk to their kids.” 

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me–” Neil gestures wildly– “about any of this?” 

“I didn’t want to pop your little bubble.” Andrew slides a calm gaze at Neil, and Neil scowls back at him. Little bubble? _What?_ “You were set on the fact that the parents of the class aren’t all assholes. And then it turned out they were.”

“Not all of them.” 

This is so, so obviously unimportant to Andrew. “And?”

“But,” says Neil, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You still need to tell me when things like this happen. Whatever happened to communication?”

Andrew shrugs. “Look, I fixed it already. I don’t see the problem.” Neil stares at him. “I said that if the principal didn’t fix it, I would talk to those parents personally. I made this big thing about threatening to pull Kayla out of the school. They just want our money, Neil, they don’t really care about the morals and ethics part of it all.” 

“I’m glad you fixed it in a–” pause– “somewhat sensible way,” Neil says, though his voice doesn’t give off even a hint of being glad about it. “I just wish you’d have talked to me and discussed this with me. If you’d have told me from the start why you weren’t so keen on buddying up, I wouldn’t’ve had to have pried.”

“Yeah, well,” says Andrew. “It’s solved now. So.”

“I still wish you would’ve talked to me.” 

Andrew sighs. Just as Neil is about to say, “Stop sighing,” followed by a speech about how communication is key, or something like that, Andrew looks at Neil and says, “Okay. I’ll talk to you next time.” He doesn’t sound remotely sarcastic. He sounds as though he means it.

Then he picks up his magazine and starts reading it again.

Neil is kind of at a loss for words.

Eventually, Neil says, “I,” but the sentence drips off his tongue. 

Without looking up, Andrew somehow manages to register Neil’s face. “I want Kayla to have a normal childhood,” comes his reply, and what he doesn’t say is: _Just as much as you do._ But Neil understands that’s what he means. “But it’s.”

He doesn’t continue.

Neil can guess what he means to say, and he sighs before completing Andrew’s sentence: “But, it’s hard to try and trust people. Just like that. Especially when some of those people decide to do thing like. Well, like _that._ ” Pause. “When it just feels like everyone is… against you.” 

Andrew is silent.

“I get it,” says Neil. “In fact, I may be one of the only people who gets it just as much as you do.” He looks at Andrew, and he really, really, really means his next words: “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If Kayla wants to have playdates or sleepovers or whatever, I can talk to the parents over the phone or meet them on my own. I don’t mind doing that at all. I promise I don’t. Okay?” 

Andrew remains silent, but subsequent to being lost in thought for a while, he takes his glasses off, puts his magazine to the side and shuffles forward. Legs now touching Neil’s underneath the blanket, he places his hands against Neil’s knees. “Can I kiss you?”

“Well, now that you’ve made your way over here,” Neil says, giving off a small grin, “it’s sort of hard to refuse.” 

“God, you’re annoying,” says Andrew, not unkindly. 

“Kiss me,” Neil replies. 

And so he does. 

After a few minutes of sitting opposite each other but gradually coming closer every second – with Andrew pressing forward just a little, making Neil lean further back into the sofa – exchanging soft kisses, Andrew breaks apart to ask, “Where are those dumb cats?”

Neil smiles against Andrew’s lips as he presses a last, lingering kiss to them. “Kitchen.” 

“Hmm.” 

“You like them, don’t you?” 

“They’re unbearable.”

“That means you like them.”

“You’re unbearable, too, so don’t get any ideas.”

“That just means you like me.”

Andrew doesn’t protest any further, since there really is no point in denying Neil’s statement. Instead, he goes quiet for a few seconds before continuing. “This–” he doesn’t say or even gesture as to what ‘this’ could possibly be, but Neil understands nonetheless– “is a group effort. If you have to meet parents before sleepovers, or whatever the fuck, I’m not going to make you go alone with Kayla. That’d be stupid. And it’d be irresponsible.”

Neil, he’s glad. Andrew may never jump with joy at the idea of having to meet and interact with new people – he may not ever find it remotely amusing to do so, either – but despite this, he’s willing to do just about anything to make sure that Kayla can have a normal, happy childhood. Hearing Andrew say so, even if they aren’t his exact words, fills Neil with ease. 

Even though Andrew’s reply pleases Neil, he also enjoys pressing all of Andrew’s buttons – and so he raises an eyebrow and puts on a smug smile. “Stupid and irresponsible how?”

Andrew gives him a look.

“Humour me,” Neil says. “Just this once.”

“You always say that,” Andrew says, but doesn’t take his hand away when Neil grasps it to intertwine their fingers in a small sign of reassurance. Neil’s fingers touching Andrew’s seeming to say, _Thank you for caring_ ; Andrew’s fingers tapping against Neil’s knuckles replying, _Stop saying thank you all the time, I’ve not done anything._

Over the years, the two have learnt their own language. They have learnt how to speak in just looking into each other’s eyes, just holding each other’s hands. Neil thinks about this often, but he never shares the thought with Andrew, as he knows Andrew would just say something like, _You’re crazy_ , even if he, too, happened to have thought of the exact same thing before. 

“Always say what?” Neil says, innocently.

“’Humour me, just this once,’” Andrew replies. “And it’s never ‘just this once’.”

“Aw,” Neil coos. “You think about the things I say?”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Why do I put up with you?” 

If this were to be a scene in a film, it would’ve been the moment Neil said, “Because you love me _,_ ” and Andrew would’ve smiled and said, “You’re right, I do.” 

But their lives are not films, and if they were, they definitely wouldn’t be considered romances. For even though Neil has a crazy amount of love for Andrew – it’s true, it’s true, it’s true! He’s known since years back and the first thing he had done upon coming to this realisation was panic and text Matt saying: _I think I’m in love_ , and Matt had replied, _What’s new_? _Hahah_ – the two don’t show their love in trivial ways such as saying, ‘I love you’.

Instead, they show their love in everyday moments like these. In Andrew saying that it’d be stupid and irresponsible to leave Neil and Kayla on their own in meeting new people, and Neil letting himself feel good as he holds Andrew’s hands on their too-small yet homely sofa. In saying things like, “Where are those dumb cats?” and “God, you’re annoying.” 

Neil knows this, and so he doesn’t feel the need to say something stupid like, “You put up with me because you love me _._ ”

Instead, he jokingly flutters his eyelashes in Andrew’s direction. “Put up with me? I’m a delight to have around,” to which Andrew rolls his eyes and leans over to pinch Neil’s ear.

 

 

 

“I have a question, Daddy,” Kayla starts, shoving a forkful of Thai curry with rice into her mouth.

“Sure,” says Neil, not even thinking about it twice. Both he and Andrew are used to answering Kayla’s questions about just about anything. 

“I just don’t get it.” She frowns but continues eating her small portion of supper anyway (Andrew made it, of course, since the dish actually took time and effort to prepare; Neil doesn’t have the patience to cook for more than 20 minutes). 

Andrew looks at her. “Don’t get what, Kayla?”

“If a baby is made from a mummy and a daddy kissing, how did you two make me?” There’s this look of quandary on her small, scrunched up face. “I don’t have a mummy.” 

Neil almost splutters out the wine he’s sipping on, whereas Andrew only raises a single, amused eyebrow. Kayla doesn’t seem to notice their reactions. She’s too busy stabbing a chunk of cauliflower, inspecting it sceptically, then putting it into her mouth and starting to chew on it slowly.

“Well,” says Neil, putting his glass down with a steady hand. “Uh.”

A ghost of a smirk appears on Andrew’s face. “Uh?” he teases. Like the son of a bitch he is.

“Uh?” Kayla repeats, eyebrows knitting an entire scarf, then a pair of socks, then a pair of gloves.

“Uh,” says Neil, and for the first time in a long idea he has no idea what to say. If he and Andrew were a heterosexual couple it would’ve been easier to explain. Maybe. But how the fuck does one explain surrogacy, sperm, fertilisation of eggs, and implanting embryos to a five-year-old? “I don’t know, Kayla, maybe this conversation should wait until you’re a little bit older.”

“Why?” she demands.

Neil harrumphs. “It’s just… hard to explain.”

“So?” Kayla folds her arms. “I’m smart.”

“Yes, you are, poppet,” Neil says, and Kayla has the decency to wait as he thinks for a few more moments before continuing. “You do technically have a mummy, because she was pregnant with you and birthed you, but you’re _also_ our biological child.”

“What’s bi _–bilogiocal_?”

“You’re our. Hmm…”

Before having a kid, Neil never realised how hard it is to explain simple concepts, like everyday words, to people who have never heard of them before. 

(When he’d been explaining to Kayla what ‘sarcasm’ means – something as easy as that – she hadn’t understood him for the life of her: _“Well, it’s like when you say something, but don’t really mean it.” “You mean like lying?” “No, not really lying.” “I don’t get it.” “Ask other Daddy, he’s sarcastic all the time.” “So sarcasm doesn’t make you a bad person, like lying?” “No, no, no. Other Daddy’s not a bad person.” “I_ know _that.”)_

Neil continues, “You’re our ‘real child’. Because even though you don’t know who your mummy is, you _do_ have one. But we’re your daddies because we… helped make you.”

“I don’t get it. Did you _both_ have to kiss that mummy to make me?”

“'Kiss that mummy?'”

“Yes. That’s what Darren in 1S said,” she explains. “He said a mummy and a daddy kiss and that’s how babies are made.”

“No, no, no. That’s not how it works.”

Kayla sighs, exasperated. “Then how _does_ it work, Daddy?”

Neil gives Andrew a look like: Help me out here, you absolute  _asshole!_ , and in return Andrew sends him a a tiny, tiny smirk.

Neil starts, “Well, Kayla, sweetheart, it’s different for everyone, but it usually starts with two people who love each other very much–”

“Generally speaking, men have something called sperm, and women have eggs, though that too is different for everyone.” Before Kayla can question this statement alone, Andrew continues quickly, “These are made up of something called sperm cells and egg cells. When babies are made between a woman and man, a man’s sperm cell will fertilize a woman’s egg cell by having something called sex.” 

“ _Andrew_ ,” Neil splutters.

“Sex?” Kayla repeats. 

“Yes,” says Andrew, taking a sip of wine, “after a little while, a baby will start growing inside of the woman, and after nine months the mother will have birth. That’s how babies are made. Not by kissing.” 

“But you’re not a woman and a man,” says Kayla after a few moments of thinking about Andrew’s words, “so, how did you make me?”

“Even though we didn’t give birth to you, we put our sperm into a woman, so she could be pregnant and still have you be our child,” Andrew replies, and Neil watches in wonder as he explains all of this in a very pedagogic way – not stopping to flush, squirm or stammer even once. “My sperm fertilized half of the woman’s eggs, and other Daddy’s fertilized the other half. So you’re ‘half and half of us’.”

Kayla thinks about this for a few moments before moaning, “I don’t understand.” She drags out the ‘a’. Underst _aaaa_ nd. “I was born out of an egg?”

“Not eggs like normal eggs you eat for breakfast,” says Neil quickly. 

“What kind of eggs then?” 

“The ovary,” says Andrew, “an organ inside of the female reproductive system.”

“Andrew,” says Neil. “That hardly makes it _easier_.” 

“So what’s _sperm_?”

“The male reproductive cell,” says Andrew.

Kayla gives him another blank stare.

As gently as he can, as though he’s holding an expensive, porcelain vase, Andrew says, “Look, Kayla. You don’t have to understand everything about everything right now–” heavily enunciating the word ‘now’– “you have your whole life ahead of you. ‘Kay?”

Thinking to himself, Neil reckons that there’s no way in Hell that Kayla will accept Andrew’s ambiguous answer without a fight. 

But the thing is that now, to everyone on earth and their neighbour’s surprise: she does. 

Albeit after a minute or so of being lost in thought and muttering, “Whole life ahead,” underneath her breath like a mantra, or as if she doesn’t really understand that either, she seems to come to some sort of conclusion in her little mind.

“Okay, Daddy,” Kayla says eventually, beaming. “I understand now.” Neil feels himself letting out a deep breath. Andrew continues eating his curry. 

“And what do you say when someone helps you, Kayla?” Neil says.

“ _Thank you_ ,” says Kayla. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Neil gives her a nod, and so she smiles, drops the subject and starts talking about _Barbie: in the 12 Dancing Princesses_ instead.

 

 

 

(What Andrew and Neil don’t know, though, is that the following day, during their outdoor playtime after lunch, Kayla marches up to Darren in 1S, along with all of his friends.

She says, “You’re wrong about how a baby is made.”

Sceptically, Darren raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know that?”

His friends back him up, one of them repeating Darren’s sentence word-for-word. “Yeah, how d’you know that?”

They’re standing behind the bicycle shed, throwing marbles into a hole they’ve dug into the ground. Well, they _were_ , before Kayla interrupted them. Now, Darren holds a small, purple marble in his hand, un–thrown, and stares at Kayla’s unwavering gaze and chin held high.

Everything about her body language exudes the statement: _I am right, and you are_ wrong.

Kayla folds her arms. “My daddy told me yesterday.”

“So?”

“He said that babies are made by something called a sperm that sells an egg, but not like normal eggs you eat at breakfast, and then that egg has sex–” the boys stare at her, even flushing just a little, since even though they’ve certainly heard this word before it has always been something they’ve been chastised to not use, or that it’s been obvious that it’s far away, intangible, not for them to understand; and they can’t believe she’s saying it so openly, so loudly, as if it means nothing– “and then the egg sells a baby and after nine months the baby is born.” 

Darren scowls at her, but even in his perplexed mind, he’s reconsidering everything. And, there’s something about Kayla’s bold way of speaking that makes him believe her. Just a little. 

Despite this, he’s been told by his own parents that babies are made via kissing, and he’ll believe them over Kayla any day of the week.

“What do you mean someone sells an egg and then the egg sells the baby?” He narrows his eyes. “Anyway, _my_ daddy wouldn’t lie to me. Your daddy must be lying to _you_.”

Darren’s best friend, a small, freckled boy named Ethan, chips in again. “Yeah _,_ Kayla. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Instead of answering Darren’s question Kayla shrugs. “You don’t have to understand everything about everything right _now_ , Darren. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

She then walks off without explaining what she means. Leaving Darren, Ethan and the rest of the boys in a state of utter confusion. But also: a hint of awe.)

 

 

 

“Daddy?”

“Yes?” 

“What would happen if I jumped off?” 

“You’d fly a few metres forward.” 

“Would I die?”

“Maybe if you landed weirdly.” 

“Like on my head?”

“Like on your head.”

Silence.

Then: “Do you know why I want to know if I would die, Daddy?” 

“No.” 

“My friend Ethan jumped off a swing and got a concussion. Do you know what a _concussion_ is, Daddy? It’s when you land on your head and your brain shakes and you get confused and you faint. And now he’s in hospital.”

“Oh.” Andrew stops pushing the swing, and realises why she asked. “He’s not going to die, Kayla.”

Kayla looks at him with big eyes. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent sure.” 

“Okay. Pinkie promise me?”

“Pinkie promise.”

Silence.

“He’s your friend, is he?”

“Yeah. He is. He’s really funny and I really like him.” 

“We can go and visit him in hospital, if you want.”

“You can do that?” 

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Do you know which hospital it is?”

“No.”

“Well, first, you better find that out.”

“Okay. I’ll ask Darren.”

“Is he another friend?” 

“Yes. I like him, too.”

“I see.” 

“What do you do when you visit someone at the hospital?”

Andrew thinks for a little. “You get them flowers.”

“Have you been in hospital before, Daddy?”

“Yes.” 

“Hospitals seem scary, Daddy. Do you think Ethan is scared?”

“No. I reckon he’s probably just bored of lying still all day.” 

“Can we get flowers for Ethan, then?”

“Sure.”

“If I find out which hospital it is, can we go tomorrow? With Darren and his mummy and daddy and Ethan’s mummy and daddy?”

“Sure.”

And so, the first time Neil and Andrew meet Kayla’s friends’ parents is at a hospital. It’s laughably ironic.

Turns out Kayla was wrong about one thing: Ethan doesn’t have a mummy and daddy at all, he has two mothers. And they’re very kind. And they’re thankful for the flowers. 

Kayla grins at this. “I chose them!”

One of Ethan’s mothers gives her a similar grin in return. “That’s very sweet of you, Kayla.”

Darren’s parents are kind, too, and – to Darren’s imminent, five-year-old despair – mention that their son has been talking all about this ‘Kayla’, and that they’re very pleased to meet finally meet her along with Neil and Andrew.

Neither Ethan’s parents nor Darren’s have negative reactions to, or even make a single comment about them being two men, their professions, Neil’s scars, or Andrew’s straightforwardness. If Andrew takes notice to this, as Neil knows he does, he doesn’t mention anything about it then or even later on.

Ethan’s face lights up when he sees Kayla and Darren standing next to him in bed. 

“Hey!” he says, smiling. “You’re here!” 

“Yeah,” says Kayla. “I got flowers.”

“Me, too,” says Darren. 

“Thank you,” says Ethan after seeing his mother’s pointed look: Say thank you!

“When are you coming back to school?” Kayla asks, pouting.

“I don’t know,” says Ethan. “Soon. I’m bo _ooo_ red.”

“We miss you,” says Darren.

Ethan smiles.

“Is your brain still all shaked up?” Kayla asks.

“ _Kayla_ ,” Neil says.

“Nope,” says Ethan, shrugging.

“Then why are you here?” Kayla demands.

“I don’t know,” says Ethan.

“He doesn’t know,” says Darren.

“You don’t know,” says Kayla, giggling. 

Suddenly, the three of them burst out into laughter. Boisterous, happy laughter. The parents exchange similar looks, but subtler: they’re entertained.

Fifteen minutes melt by and all of a sudden their visiting time is up. Kayla, though, refuses to leave the room. “I want to stay.” She folds her arms.

Andrew has an amused look on his face, Ethan’s mothers and Darren’s parents laugh genuine laughs whilst Neil sighs. “Come on, Kayla. Ethan needs time to rest.” 

“Is that true?” Kayla asks Ethan. “Do you need to rest?”

Ethan flushes. “I don’t know.” 

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

“Okay.” 

Kayla turns to Ethan’s mums. “Mrs. and Mrs. Hollingworth, can we come back tomorrow?”

“Where did those good manners come from?” Neil mutters under his breath.

One of Ethan’s mother’s smiles. “Of course, Kayla.”

“Okay,” says Kayla. “Good.” She turns back to Ethan, sticking her hand out. “ _Promise_ me you’ll come back to school soon. Pinkie promise me.”

Ethan links their fingers together, blushing and smiling. “I pinkie promise!”

As they’re walking down the hospital corridor, Darren looks somewhat sad. When his dad asks him what’s up, all he says is: “I _miss_ him. He’s my _best friend_ and I miss him.” 

Just as his parents are about to lean down to comfort him, Kayla takes his hand. She beams. “It’s okay, Darren. He pinkie promised me he’s coming back soon. And his mummies said we can come back tomorrow, if we want.”

“Okay,” says Darren, sniffling slightly.

“So, don’t worry!”

“I won’t.”

Neil and Andrew exchange a quick look, Darren’s parents smiling at them in silent thankfulness.

Neil slips his hand into Andrew’s pocket to squeeze his hand just once. Andrew doesn’t say anything, but he slides Neil a calm, contented gaze.

 

 

 

Before Kayla, Sundays were their lazy days.

Neil would often skip his morning jog to be able to spend more time at home, exchanging lethargic, indulgent kisses with Andrew as the sun rose and turned Andrew’s blonde hair white.

Now, Kayla has Little League Exy practice every Sunday morning.

Taking after Neil, Kayla adores Exy. They hadn’t wanted to force her into Exy, though. They’d let her try all kinds of things like ballet, football, street dance, volleyball. But she’d chosen it on her own accord. Or, as Renee has told Andrew before: “Maybe she secretly wants to be just like her dads.” 

Today isn’t like any other usual Sunday, though – Kayla’s team have gotten all the way to the Little League’s final. She hasn’t stopped talking about it the past few weeks. 

Kayla’s nerves are at all time high when they arrive at the arena, but her anxiety seems to melt away – a little, at the least – upon seeing Allison and Renee waiting for them by the Exy field.

“Auntie Ally! Renee!” she squeals, jumping out of the car to greet them. Andrew’s lifts her bag of gear out of the backseat, slinging it over his shoulder. Neil follows suit. “You’re here!”

“Hey, baby,” Allison coos, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Kayla beams at this.

There’s no doubt that she’s overdressed for a children’s Exy game – red lips, blonde hair pulled into a neat bun, Louboutin heels, and a beautiful, flowery silk dress paired with a Hermès scarf pulled around her neck – but despite her expensive looks, she still bears the colours of Kayla’s team in an overdramatic face paint job. 

Renee, she has the same face paint as Allison, but she’s opted for a more natural outfit: a casual yet beautiful sanguine blouse paired with a knee length black skirt. 

The two of them burst into wonderful smiles when Kayla runs towards them, and they take turns in pulling her into huge, bone-crushing hugs. And, if their arm strength _does_ knock the air out of Kayla, she just continues laughing, anyway. 

“How’s my favourite little Kays doing?” Allison says. 

“Good!” says Kayla.

“You’re looking extra adorable today, aren’t you?” Renee says. 

“Well, Auntie Renee, Auntie Allison, I’m _excited_ ,” says Kayla, “to play!” She gives Allison a mischievous smile. “And to win, of _course_.” 

“Hey,” says Neil, not really minding at all. “Cheeky.” 

“Ignore your boring dad. If you say you’re gonna win, you’re gonna win. I believe in you, babes.” Allison ruffles her hair. “My little star player.”

Kayla giggles. “Daddy’s boring.”

“Bad influence,” Neil says. 

“Mind you,” says Allison, snorting. “I’m the best influence a little girl could ever have.” 

“What does ‘influence’ mean?” Kayla asks.

“Something or someone that has an effect on you,” says Renee before Andrew even has time to open his mouth. 

Kayla frowns. “Daddy, does Auntie Ally have a bad effect on me?” Children do that, often. They talk about someone as if they’re not right next to them. As if Allison suddenly can’t hear what Kayla’s saying.

“No,” says Andrew. 

“Oh, okay,” says Kayla, thankfully. 

“So, anyway, Kays,” says Allison, changing the subject. “How about we have another girls’ night again, sometime soon. Just you, Renee, and I. How does that sound?”

“Can we play dress up again? And go swimming in your pool?” 

“Anything you like.”

Kayla has these huge, huge eyes. “Really?” 

Renee smiles at Andrew and Neil, then back at Kayla. “Yeah. Anything you like, Kayla. But, only if you win this match.” She winks. Neil watches as Andrew’s lips twitch just a little. 

Renee, she’s the kindest person on the planet. She really is. But she does have a mischievous side, too, not much different from Kayla’s. And it comes out in moments like this. 

Kayla stares up at Renee. A determined expression takes place onto her face. “I’m going to win. And then we can swim and paint our nails and I can wear Auntie Allison’s necklaces and long dresses and then we can draw pictures of dinosaurs together especially Diplodocuses because they’re my favourites because they have such long necks.” 

Allison says, “Well, you better get all geared up, then. The balls won’t shoot themselves.”

After Kayla’s gone off to change and get ready for the match, Renee gives her wife a look. “’Balls won’t shoot themselves’?” She leans over and adjusts Allison’s scarf just a little. “And you call yourself a good aunt.” 

Allison smirks. “You started it, _Godmother_.”

Renee and Allison had realised they’d been in love all throughout college around three years after they’d graduated. Not wanting to make it into a big deal, they hadn’t told any of the old foxes until they were completely ready. Well, apart from Renee telling Andrew, and Allison telling Neil (and the funny part was that both of them held it completely secret from each other; not knowing that they both already knew, only from the two different sides of it). 

A year or so later, though, they’d finally broken the news, and everyone was completely supportive. Nicky’d almost fainted in joy, dramatic as he is, and in classic Foxes-style he’d managed to rack in a few hundred dollars for always having been the only one to bet on them being a thing (“ _I mean, I thought they’d had to have experimented with each other at least once_.”). Kevin and Aaron didn’t really have any strong opinions on it, but they weren’t against it. With them, that was always something.

Now, they’re happily married, and have been for a little over two years. 

Andrew and Neil had attended the wedding. Of course they had. Kayla had been the sweetest little flower girl of them all. (From a completely unbiased point of view, obviously.) 

Neil really does think that Allison and Renee are perfect for each other – as tacky as it sounds. He does. Allison needs someone like Renee, just as Renee needs someone like Allison. Someone could think that their extreme difference in personalities would lead to a clash in the relationship, but in fact, the dissimilarity in their ways are exactly what make them such a perfect couple. They just go together. It’s hard to explain, and no one really understands them, looking on from the outside. But, Neil can. Because no one really understands him and Andrew, either. But he knows that they work. And thus, he knows that Renee and Allison do work, too: and undeniably so.

“How does our face paint look?” Allison asks. They’re in the stands now, amongst all the other kids’ parents. Ready to cheer until their voices go hoarse. “Not smudged yet, is it?”

“Nope,” says Neil, shrugging. “Looks fine.”

“Good,” says Allison, putting on another layer of lipstick. The red of her lips match the red of her face paint – Kayla’s team’s colour is an ostentatious shade of bright red; their mascot being a red panda and all.

Minutes before the game’s set to start, Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin arrive, along with Matt and Dan.

Nicky has the biggest grin on his face, even though he’s panting from having run from his car, and he has almost the exact same amount of face paint as Allison and Renee have. Matt and Dan do, too. Aaron and Kevin have gone for more lowkey looks, but they’re also sporting red t-shirts – Kevin looking a little reluctant about it, but not seeming to mind too much thanks to his obvious soft spot for Kayla.

“Well, welcome to the party, darlings,” says Allison, only half-sarcastically.

“We’re sorry we’re late,” Matt says, huffing. “Traffic jam.”

“Same for us,” Nicky explains.

Neil notices that he’s even painted his nails red, too, and he feels a wave of appreciation flood through him. Nicky’s always been the one to shower Kayla in oceans of love – even when he’s in Germany he sends postcards and gifts, and he’s never, ever forgotten her birthday. He once even FaceTimed Kayla at 3 o’clock German time, just to remember to wish her a happy _name’s day._

Dan wipes sweat off her eyebrow. “We haven’t missed anything, though. Right?”

“Nope,” says Renee. She gives them all a genuine smile. “Glad you could make it.”

Kevin goes to sit down next to Andrew. 

Andrew asks him: “Traffic jam?” 

Kevin admits, “We stopped to buy the red shirts.”

Andrew says, amused, “The tag’s still on,” to which Kevin puts his hand to the back of his neck and realises that yeah, the tag is still on.

Aaron says, “It was Nicky’s idea.”

Nicky pouts. “Just ‘cause I’m a good _Onkel_.” 

And Neil finds himself saying, “Thanks, Nicky.” 

Nicky’s eyes shine. Suddenly, he gets all modest. “Oh, it was nothing.”

Allison punches Neil’s arm lightly. “Why are you being all nice, huh?”

“Let him, Ally.” Dan smiles at Neil and Andrew. “We’re glad to be here. And, there wasn’t really a traffic jam. We just have really bad time management.”

“ _Dan_ ,” Matt whinges. “They didn’t need to know that.”

Dan shrugs. “Why lie?”

“Yeah, at least you’re honest,” says Allison. Then she turns to her side, facing away from Renee for a second, and whispers in Neil’s ear: “We should’ve placed bets on why they were late. Wasted opportunity.”

Neil gives her a look. Then he squeezes her kneecap. 

“Oh, fuck _off_ ,” she says, swatting him away. “That’s where I’m the most ticklish.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Asshole.”

“ _Language_ , Allison,” Nicky jokes. “There are children present.”

“Where the fuck?” Allison folds her arms. “Kays is down there, and Lily and Charlie aren’t even here.”

“I mean Neil,” says Nicky.

“And to think I was fucking kind to you,” says Neil, with no bite, and Dan laughs a big, loud laugh, and Andrew steals a handful of popcorn from Renee, and then a whistle is blown to signal the two teams that warm-ups are over.

With a calm expression, Kevin watches the field. “They’re going to win.”

Andrew looks at him.

“Yeah,” says Renee, pulling her hair into a neat ponytail. “They are.”

“Biased,” Matt smiles.

“As if _you_ aren’t,” says Dan.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

Neil and Andrew give each other a look. Similar to the rest of the foxes, Kevin is a very brutally honest person, to say the least. It’s just that Kevin, he always speaks his mind. So, even if it was Kayla and her team they were talking about, Kevin could’ve easily said:  _She’s going to lose,_ if that was what he thought the outcome would be.

Neil didn’t even realise that he’s been jiggling his leg before Andrew places a hand on his thigh to make it go still. When he realises that he has Neil’s attention, Andrew gives Neil a tiny nod, and Neil feels his face break into a warm expression.

“PDA,” Allison says, sing-song voice.

“Shut up,” says Andrew. 

The referee blows the whistle for the second time, and the match starts.

 

 

 

 

 

_Kayla Minyard–Josten_

_1Gr._

_Topic: Family_

_My Daddies are very speshul to me. They are profeshonal Exy players wich means they play Exy every day. I play Exy too and I think it’s very fun. Sometimes my Daddies go away to play Exy in different cityes and states and even countrys but I don’t mind because I watch maches they are in with my uncle Matt and auntie Renee and my other uncles and aunties. Everyone is always very happy when my Daddies win and they hug me and tell me that my Daddies are very very talented and speshul and then I tell them that I already know that._

_Some people think it is wierd that my Daddies love each other ~~b~~_ _~~ecus~~  because they are two Daddies and not a Mummy and Daddy. But I don’t think so. We have cats too and I think that they are two boys and they love each other very much too. So I don’t think it’s weird that my Daddies love each other._

 _One of my Daddies got into an axsident when he was young so he has a scar on his face. Some people think it’s wierd too. I don’t think so because I know that my Daddy isn’t weird because he likes playing Exy and reading books to me and singing the song Bugie Wonderland. He’s not very good at singing but it’s OK. Some_ ~~ _poeple_~~ _people_   _think that my other Daddy is grumpy because he looks grumpy sometimes. But I know he’s not grumpy Mrs. Greene. He’s never angry. He loves me and other Daddy alot and I know this because he plaits my hair and never forgets to water the flowers._

 

 

 

 

In all of their time knowing one another, Neil has only seen Andrew at a complete, utter loss of words one time. One time, only. 

A week or so after her fifth birthday, Kayla had gotten curious, and she’d asked about his and Andrew’s armbands. They’d already talked to her about Neil’s burn mark, a few months previously, but only loosely (and, obviously, excluding most of the major details. In fact, he hadn’t really said more than just, _“I just… just got into an accident a while ago…,”_ before Kayla had nodded and changed the subject). 

Although both his and Andrew’s scars had faded quite drastically over time, they had never disappeared completely, and so they still wore their armbands every day. It wasn’t strange to them as it was a habit – a sign of comfort, of surety if anything – neither of them were willing to give up just like that.

Even though they’d both known the question was bound to come eventually, especially knowing her history of youthful inquisitiveness, Kayla’s question had taken the two of them aback. Neil, noticeably. Andrew, not as noticeably (that is: to the untrained eye, and to anybody else apart from Neil).

They’d been standing in the living room, and after a few moments of thought, Andrew had sat down on the sofa, patting the spot next to him. Kayla’d understood that this was an indication to sit down, and she had done so gladly. Neil had continued standing up.

“You remember what a scar is,” Andrew’d said, not really a question.

Kayla had nodded.

“The both of us have scars under the armbands, here,” Andrew had said, gesturing to his left arm. “Ones that we don’t really want people to see.”

“Why don’t you want people to see them?” 

“Because they’re ugly,” Andrew had said.

Kayla had pouted. “Oh.” At that age, the word ‘ugly’ is one of the unkindest things you can use to describe something or someone. Children, they know the word ‘ugly’. People who look a little different are ugly, ducklings are ugly, the meaner characters in Roald Dahl’s books are ugly.

“So, I can’t see them,” Kayla’d said, but not sadly. She’d said it matter-of-factly, as if she understood the weight of it and somehow understood.

Gentle, tiptoeing around the issue, Neil had at this moment joined the conversation. “I don’t think you’d want to.” 

“Oh.” A moue of discontent had been plastered to Kayla’s face. “Okay.”

Neil hadn’t wanted to upset her, and he’d suddenly found himself saying: “If you want to, though, I can show you my bare arms. Someday.”

Andrew had raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak.

Kayla’s eyes had suddenly widened. “ _Bear_ arms?”

Neil had shown her a soft smile. “Bare. A body item with no clothing on it.” 

“How’s that spelt?” 

“B–a–r–e.”

With that, the conversation had been over, and Kayla seemed to have forgotten about the armbands completely. Although Neil had said that Kayla could look at his scars someday in the future, he’d started thinking about it later on and had been almost gripped with anxiety. Andrew, though, had noticed this reaction straight away. All he’d said was, “She won’t remember that tomorrow,” and Neil had said, “I know.” 

The following day, though, something came to surprise them at the most unexpected of times. The three were sitting together on the sofa just before dinner – they’d ordered pizza; it was a Thursday evening and neither Andrew nor Neil had been bothered to cook – when all of a sudden Kayla had torn her eyes away from _National Geographic_ to say: “I have a present for you.”

“Hm?” Neil had said. “A present for me?”

“For both you and other Daddy.”

She’d leapt up from the sofa, making Sir Fat Cat let out an onomatopoeic _meow_. 

They’d been watching a special episode about sharks on TV, and as Kayla left the room to get her ‘presents’, Andrew and Neil had continued watching, learning all about the anatomy of the great white shark.

It wasn’t unusual for Kayla to draw or paint a picture in school and then bring it back home to proudly show her dads, and so they’d both assumed she would come back with a sheet of paper bursting with lines and shapes of all kinds of different colours saying something like, _“It’s a_ jaguar _, Daddy.”_

Not this time, though.

She’d skipped back into the living room, hands behind her back.

With a grin plastered to her face and in sing-song voice, Kayla had said, “Close your eyes,”

They’d closed their eyes.

“Put out your hands.”

They’d put out their hands.

Neil had felt a small weight being placed into his palm, and when he’d opened his eyes, he’d seen something small, pink, and circular in his hand. 

It’d taken him a few seconds to realise what it was.

“A bracelet?” Neil had said, looking at Kayla.

The smile on her face had grown as she explained: “I asked Mrs. Greene if I could stay indoors and make them for you.” Her cheeks were riddled with flushed happiness. “At playtime today. She said it was okay so I made them and she was the one who helped me tie them when they were finished. Do you like them?”

Andrew had been staring at the bracelet with an indecipherable expression, as if he couldn’t quite get enough of looking at the cheap beads in various shades of purple, pink, orange and red along with the small, unicorn-shaped, plastic charms tangled into a thin elastic string,

Neil had replied for the both of them. He’d given her a huge smile, and he really, really meant it. “Thank you, sweetheart. They’re lovely.”

Kayla had looked to Andrew. “Daddy?”

Andrew had finally torn his eyes away from his palm.

And when she’d seen that his attention was on her, her blue eyes had sparkled like a bubbling spring, a glass of champagne, a sapphire, bathed in sun-rays. 

And she’d said, “I don’t you’re ugly, Daddy. I think you’re very pretty.”

And neither Andrew nor Neil had been able to answer – their tongues had not cooperated as they’d stared at her in shock – and mistaking their stunned silence for confusion she’d hastily continued. “I made the bracelets for you and other Daddy in _aaaall_ my favourite colours because I think they’re very, very pretty, and not ugly, and maybe you’ll think your scars are actually very pretty too.” 

And she’d continued once more, as they still hadn’t known what to say to her. “I can make more bracelets if you want. I think Mrs. Greene will let me be inside for playtime again if I say pretty please.” Pause. “I don’t mind missing outdoor playtime. Because, I don’t _really_ like playing marbles. I promise it’s true.”

All Neil had managed was to croak out, “That’s very thoughtful of you, sweetheart. Thank you.”

Neil had looked over to Andrew and noticed that Andrew had been putting his bracelet on gently, gently, gently, carefully making sure he hadn’t snapped the elastic string. Neil’d put his on too, and he fell in love with the way the colourful beads stood out against the black material of their regular armbands.

Andrew had been staring at the bracelet again, and he’d touched it with the tip of his index finger as if he couldn’t believe it was real. 

He’d opened his mouth to speak, but he had been at a complete loss of words. 

Neil had never seen Andrew react so strongly to anything – although he wasn’t the most talkative, most of the time _he_ was the one chose when he wanted to or didn’t want to speak. Now, he hadn’t been _able_ to speak. But he hadn’t either been surprised at Andrew’s strong reaction. To Andrew, looking at the bracelet against the armband had been a representation, or some sort of physical, tangible proof of who he had been before, versus who he now was. Although he had stopped carrying knives on him ages ago, Neil had seen how his mind had started wandering. Thinking, perhaps, of how he had used to weapons underneath his armbands and now carried a bracelet with unicorn charms around his wrist, and his five-year-old daughter had just told him that he is very, very pretty and that his scars should be seen as pretty, too.

Kayla had tilted her head to the side, eyebrows knitted. “Are you sad, Daddy?”

Andrew had shaken his head from one side to the next, slowly, to show her that no, he wasn’t sad, not at all.

“Okay, good,” Kayla had said, jumping up on the sofa again. She’d jammed herself between Neil and Andrew; the documentary about sharks was still ongoing. King Fluffkins had crawled back up in her lap. 

“Maybe I can make some bracelets for the cats, too,” Kayla had said, petting King’s head and neck. “Do you think they’d like that, Daddy?”

“I’m sure they’d love it,” had been Neil’s reply, and he had kissed her on the top of the head, and five minutes or so later the pizza delivery guy rang the doorbell, and the evening went on.

Later that night, before they’d fallen asleep, Andrew had opened his mouth and started to say, “Neil,” but Neil had cut him off by saying, “I know.”

“You didn’t know what I was going to say.”

“I could guess,” Neil had said, giving him a small smile.

Andrew, he hadn’t replied. Instead, he’d reached his arm out and mindlessly combed his hand through Neil’s hair, and thousands of unspoken words lay in his fingers gingerly raking through strand after strand. His touch was gentle enough to leave a tingle in its wake.

“It’s all tangled. God, have you never seen a comb in your entire life?” I love you. 

Neil had rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” I love you, I love you, I love you.

 

 

 

When he’d woken up the next morning, he’d been forced to detach himself from Andrew’s body to get up and have a shower. Andrew had woken up to this, obviously, but he’d decided to stay curled up underneath the covers nonetheless.

When Neil had taken his clothes off, turned shower on and adjusted the water temperature to hottest, glancing in the mirror which was gradually steaming up, he had realised something. It was a realisation that had struck him, something that lives on with him ever since, and it had struck him hard enough for him to almost lose his balance. Because, here was the thing. He’d realised this: that when he’d seen his hair and his eyes in the reflection just then, he hadn’t see Nathan anymore, despite being the spitting image of his dead father. And still, now: when he looks in the mirror, he sees his own bright, blue eyes, paired with a gap–toothed grin. He sees a small hand, holding his.

Although Neil has lived 32 years and of which the majority have been lived with an entire war raging inside of him, he can now stand by the mirror and look at his reflection and touch his face and think of Kayla saying, _“Look, Daddy, I drew a picture of us. Do you like it?”_  just as how when he sees a beach he now thinks less of rotting flesh and more of lying in warm sand, hearing the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore, watching Andrew and Kayla make hermit crabs race each other.

And when he sees his image in the reflection, he no longer immediately associates his own face to warm blood pouring out of a locker; a car lighter being put to his cheek. And if these thoughts, or even thoughts remotely similar to them, threaten to wash over him as they sometimes do, he thinks of the fact that he has a daughter with the same eyes as him and looking into them never scares him.  

Standing there, looking himself in the mirror the morning after being gifted a beaded pink bracelet from Kayla, Neil had let this thought enfold him for the first time ever – and he’d felt somewhat peaceful. 

He’d walked back into the bedroom, seeing the shape of Andrew’s head lying lazily against the pillows in their bed, and he felt warm from his fingertips to his feet. For a few minutes, Neil had stood there, looking out of the window. He’d watched as the mailman put the newspaper on their neighbour’s doorstep. He’d seen as the elderly man who lived there had opened the door, still wearing pyjamas, to get the newspaper. The elderly man had greeted the mailman, and the mailman had greeted him back.

“What are you staring at?” Andrew had said, rather hoarsely; he’d forced himself to wake up at last.

Neil had turned away from the window and was now facing Andrew (still nestled in the thick duvet, eyes sleepy). Again. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Neil had said, and he re-entered the world. Again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
_But when the good_  
_moments arrived_  
_again_  
_I didn't fight them off_  
_like an alley_  
_adversary._  
_I let them take me,_  
_I luxuriated in them,_  
_I made them welcome_  
_home._  
_I even looked into_  
_the mirror_  
_once having thought_  
_myself to be_  
_ugly,_  
_I now liked what_  
_I saw, almost_  
_handsome, yes,_  
_a bit ripped and_  
_ragged,_  
_scars, lumps,_  
_odd turns,_  
_but all in all,_  
_not too bad,_  
_almost handsome,_  
_better at least than_  
_some of those movie_  
_star faces_  
_like the cheeks of_  
_a baby's_  
_butt._

Charles Bukowski,  _Let It Enfold You_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i know they'd never ""really"" want children, but ao3 is a lawless land so you can pry this out-of-character au from my cold dead hands!!!!
> 
> [bukowski's let it enfold you (full). one of my favourite poems, and loads of parts of this story (as in even The Title Itself) are inspired by it. and, it's so, SO andreil. it even includes the line “i hated the colour orange”](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/let-it-enfold-you/)
> 
> [twitter!](https://twitter.com/greeneryrains)


End file.
